


anything

by Love_Me_Dead



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gil Arroyo Needs a Hug, Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Me_Dead/pseuds/Love_Me_Dead
Summary: Gil would do anything for Malcolm Bright. But he can't do enough.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	anything

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Photographic Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745894) by [wonder_boy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonder_boy/pseuds/wonder_boy). 



> When I read "Photographic Memory", I was so struck by the way Jade wrote Gil's loss and I was so curious about how Malcolm died. And then I was inspired and this fell out, a prequel to Jade's work. Thank you also to [Ali](https://luna-colorata.tumblr.com) for giving me the courage to reach out and ask Jade if I could post this work! 
> 
> This fic contains major character death. Please proceed with caution.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Malcolm was meant to have a whole life, move past the trauma his father had caused, and die when he was at least seventy years old, long after Gil was gone.

Not like this.

A case. Always a case. They had two dead children and two suspects. Everyone was on edge about it - no one wanted a case with dead children to go cold.

A traffic camera caught one of their suspects heading in the direction of the dump site. They went to have a word with him at his house. Just to ask what he was doing at the time. Give him a chance to have an alibi.

But the minute they asked what he was doing at eleven o’clock, he pulled a gun. And so did they.

“Just put the gun down and we’ll talk,” JT said. His own gun, his steady hand, was trained on the suspect. He was the best shot Gil knew. 

Malcolm, the only one unarmed, stepped forward with his hands out. Gil adjusted his grip on his gun. 

“Bright,” he said, a warning.

Malcolm glanced back at him, his eyes betraying his fright. “It’s okay,” he said. 

“Take another step and I’ll kill you!”

Malcolm, hands raised, nodded. “You’re scared,” he said. “But if you kill me? They’ll kill you.”

The suspect, grimacing and half-hysterical, looked between them. His hand shook. His finger was on the trigger. One wrong shake and bullets would fly.

“Just put the gun down and we’ll talk,” Malcolm said. He gingerly stepped forward.

A bang, followed by two others.

Gil lurched forward as soon as the suspect fell. Dani rushed over and kicked the gun out of his hand and checked for a pulse. A headshot. He was gone before he hit the floor.

But Malcolm. 

He fell to the floor as well, a patch of red blossoming in his chest.

JT called for an ambulance. Gil and Dani knelt down next to him, tore off his jacket and applied pressure against the wound. 

“Hey,” Gil said, kneeling over him and pressing the fabric against the wound. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. The paramedics are on their way - just - just hold on.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth and his hands scrambled, groped and grabbed out until he held onto Gil’s arm, painfully tight. He was gasping and sputtering - the bullet no doubt hit his lung.

“Just - just calm down, okay? It’s okay, just hold on, they’ll be right here.”

Malcolm coughed and wheezed as he attempted to suck in a good breath of air. 

“Kid, hey, just hold on.”

Malcolm reached up with his other hand, grasped at Gil’s shirt, and wheezed again. “Please don’t leave,” he whispered. His voice was full of panic. 

“I’m right here,” Gil soothed. He pressed with his full weight against the wound in his son’s chest, anything to stop the bleeding.

Just like at Claremont when Jin got stabbed. Hemothorax. Blood in the lung. Gil had never wanted for the Surgeon to be out of custody until this moment. 

“Where is the ambulance!?” Gil barked. 

Malcolm coughed, blood collected on his lip. “Please - please,” he sputtered. 

“It’s okay, they’ll be here soon,” Gil soothed. “JT? Can you apply pressure?”

They swapped positions, JT knelt on the floor next to Malcolm pressing against the wound, and Gil shuffled over, brushing at Malcolm’s hair, the one spot that could soothe him. Malcolm shut his eyes and leaned into the touch, whimpering.

“Hey, stay with me,” Gil said, tapping on his cheek.

Malcolm opened his eyes again but they were different. His skin was cold. Pale. Dani checked on the status of the ambulance. 

“They’re five minutes out.”

Gil swallowed his panic as Malcolm’s eyes fluttered again, as his breathing slowed, his grip loosened. “No, kid, stay with me.”

Malcolm opened his eyes, groaned, coughed. “C-can’t.”

“Malcolm, look at me! I’m not going to let you die!”

He shook his head but he met Gil’s eyes and attempted a lopsided grin. Against the wooden floorboards, he was spilling blood and it was filling his lung and he couldn’t get enough oxygen.

“Malcolm,  _ no _ ,” Gil said.

“Sorry,” Malcolm whispered.

His eyes were wide and full of terror, the same way they had been when he was twelve and he was in the throes of night terrors and flashbacks, but this time it was so much worse. Gil cursed and held onto his hand as Malcolm’s grip loosened and his eyes fluttered shut.

Under the fluorescent lights in the hospital, Jackie’s eyes were mahogany brown. They were full of life, joy, until they weren’t. Until there was a horrible whine. And her eyes hardened, lost all the life, all the joy. 

There was still something that could be done. The paramedics had to be able to do something. Even if they were just sat there frozen, JT holding Malcolm’s shirt against his chest to avoid any more blood loss. Anything. Anything.

Anything.

The paramedics swooped in and Gil was shunted to the side, blood on his hands. He stood frozen until they began carrying Malcolm out on a stretcher.

He followed them. Abandoned Dani and JT at the scene to answer the questions of what happened. Anything to be with Malcolm. Anything.

Anything.

Gil was there. He held Malcolm’s hand when the paramedics worked on him. He held his hand when they announced they couldn’t find a pulse. When they pushed epinephrine and attempted to shock him back into a normal rhythm. Chest compressions. Anything.

Anything.

Gil was there when they called the time. 

A young paramedic, curly black hair pulled back into two puffs at the back of her neck, called it. She looked shell-shocked as she read out the time. “Four thirty-three.”

And they shut off the whine of the pulse monitor screaming that it was zero beats per minute. The silence hurt. The still body in front of him, the body of his son, reminded him that he had fucked up.

Gil would do anything for Malcolm Bright. Anything.

Anything.

And he hadn’t done enough.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think with kudos, comments or yell at me on [my tumblr](https://bibright.tumblr.com)


End file.
